Claiming My Bratty Stepdaughter(2)

Richard didn’t move. He just watched the towel slip, watched me standing there still wet from the shower, skin flushed from the heat. His jaw was clenched so tight I could see the muscle working. The small motel room felt smaller with him standing there, the air thick between us.

“Come here,” he said.

I didn’t move. The space between us felt electric, dangerous. My heart was pounding so hard I was sure he could hear it.

He stood instead. Walked toward me slowly, deliberately. His shirt was still on. His jeans still buttoned. He reached out and grabbed my wrist, pulling me against his chest. His clothes were rough against my wet skin. The heat of him soaked through the fabric.

“Been waiting,” he said into my hair. His voice was low and steady. His hand settled at the small of my back, holding me there.

My body reacted right away. Heat rushed through me. He felt it. His hand moved to my hip, fingers pressing into my soft skin as he kissed my neck. The brush of his mouth made my breath catch.

“You know this is wrong,” I whispered.

“Yeah.” His hand stayed firm on my hip. “I know.”

He pulled me to the bed and guided me down so I sat on the edge. I was still damp from the shower. He dropped to his knees between my legs. I grabbed his shoulders, nails digging in. The carpet was rough under his knees. The lamp on the nightstand cast a low light across his face.

“Richard…”

“Look at me,” he ordered, his voice rough.

I met his eyes. They were dark and locked on mine. He stayed close. His breath was warm against my skin. I bit my lip at first, trying to stay quiet, but the sound still slipped out.

“Don’t hold back,” he said quietly. “Let me hear you.”

Soft sounds filled the small room. My hands tightened on his shoulders. The pressure built fast, sharper than I expected. My breathing turned uneven. I tried to warn him, but he didn’t stop. The feeling came sharp and sudden. My back lifted. For a moment I couldn’t catch my breath. My chest rose and fell hard.

He stayed there until I stopped shaking. Then he stood. His own breathing was fast, uneven. The sight of him made heat rush through me again.

“Touch yourself,” he said.

I paused. My hand hovered, uncertain.

“Now, Emma.”

My hand moved. I was still sensitive. I started slow, then faster. Richard watched with tight eyes, his own hand moving in the same rhythm. The room was quiet except for our breathing.

“Look at me,” he said.

I kept my eyes on him. The pressure built inside me again, sharper this time. My thighs trembled.

“Say my name,” he ordered.

I tried, but the words stuck in my throat.

“Say it, Emma.”

“Richard…”

The feeling hit me hard. “Daddy,” I gasped as another wave moved through me. My back arched. He groaned, his hand moving faster, and finished with a low, broken sound. His body jerked once.

We stayed like that for a moment, both of us breathing hard, eyes locked. The air felt heavy. Neither of us spoke.

Then silence crashed down.

Reality hit. What we’d just done. What I’d just let happen. What I’d just called him. My face burned. I pulled my legs up, wrapping my arms around my knees, suddenly hyperaware of my nakedness and the damp sheets beneath me.

He turned away first, moving toward the bathroom. The door closed behind him. I heard the water run.

When he came back out, he didn’t look at me. He pulled on his shirt. Buttoned his jeans. His movements were careful, controlled.

“We’re leaving early,” he said quietly. “Before dawn.”

I nodded, though he wasn’t looking.

He got into the other bed and turned to face the wall.

I lay there in the dark, my body still thrumming, my mind reeling. Embarrassment burned through me. What had I just done? What had I let him do?

And worse… I wanted him to do it again.